Drunk
by AsWeAreNow
Summary: Different nations have varying tendencies to get drunk. When they do, the results are hilarious, sad, maddening, and lovable— sometimes a mix of all four. Some have very unexpected personality changes. T for swearing.
1. England and America

America was staying with England for awhile. "Hey, America, wanna go out to drink?"

"Sure, England!" America said happily. He wasn't allowed to drink anymore, and it had been quite a long time since he'd had any sort of alcohol.

While America never drank much anyway, England was seemingly going to town.

"Damnit, America!" He slammed the glass down. America frowned. "Fucking shit!"

America sighed. "What is it, England?" He asked.

"Why'd you have to leave?"

"Why'd you have to tax me so damn much?" America replied.

England looked like he was about to start crying. "I'm sorry!" He cried out suddenly.

"Um... I forgive you?" America tried.

England instantly smiled again. "Oh, joy!"

England eventually drank enough to almost fall off his seat. He'd ranted plenty, and asked America about politics and his opinion on France. He even asked what America had thought of World War One and Two, and what would cause World War Three ("Nothing will," America had assured a rather worried England).

"Okay, Arthur, let's go home now." America sighed, taking out money from his wallet to pay. Thankfully, he'd stopped at a money conversion place* earlier.

"No! I don't want to go!"

America picked him up and they left.

America had hardly drank at all— he'd had a beer— and so he drove, even though he wasn't used to England's stupid way of driving.

(I don't know how to do transitions, so here you go. I'm sorry.)

By the time they got back to England's house, England looked like he was about to start crying again. "Iggy? Dude, what's wrong?"

"I-I'm not quite sure." And then he launched into a rant, or more of a desperate plea for help, about how all of the world hated him and how he'd pushed everyone away.

"I—," England sniffled. "I don't want... everyone to hate me... But it's too late, i-isn't it?"

 _Well, it'd be fucked to tell him anything bad when he's drunk, right?_ "No, of course it's not. And the world doesn't hate you. As a matter of fact, I think everyone... well, most people, like you very much." America gently pushed him down.

"America?"

"Yes, England?"

"I'm so glad I didn't kill you when I had the chance."

"Goodnight, England."

"I had so many chances."

"Goodnight, England."

 ***Okay, so I go to money-conversion places all the time, but I've forgotten what they're called.**

 **This may not be the best story I've ever written, but I certainly had a lot of fun making it and I'm proud enough of the result.**


	2. Europe and Others

"Oof," Austria grunted. He put the glass down.

Prussia simply laughed, holding up his beer and yelling some unintelligible german. It sounded a bit like "Österreich, du kleine Scheiße" but no one could be too sure, and if Austria noticed he didn't care.

Unlike Prussia, Germany, and England, Austria was _not_ a professional drinker, Hungary mused. She sipped on some Pálinka. Unlike Austria, she promised herself, she wouldn't drink too much.

But how much was too much? She wondered, ordering another one. Everything would be _fine_. Hungary was certainly far from a professional drinker, but she wasn't Austria-Unprofessional... right?

It wasn't that Austrians didn't drink a lot; it was that Austria didn't drink a lot. While Germany and Prussia essentially didn't have limits, Austria hardly ever drank. Usually, he said, he would spend more time doing _refined_ things, such as painting, baking different pastries, and weeping at Mozart concerts.

"Can I... get another..."

This specific bar carried a lot of European alcohol, so everybody decided to benefit from it. Hungary got her Pálinka, Austria got his Mozart Liqueur, Prussia and Germany got their beer. The only one who wasn't as happy was America, who refused to drink in general, mumbling defiantly about 'drinking laws in his country' when France offered him some wine. The young nation and France instead watched England, who seemingly was not going to stop. America looked uneased while France cheered him on.

"Stop peer-pressuring America, you pervert!" England called out.

"I'm not peer-pressuring! He's an adult!" France exlaimed. "Or is he not independent?"

"Shut it, you stupid twat! You only helped him because you wanted to get back at me! It's not like you loved him! And you're the reason he and I weren't friends in the first place! You drove a bloody chainsaw in between us!"

America laughed, though he looked pretty upset about the "we weren't friends" statement. He left to go talk to Canada, taking his mug of Coca-Cola with him.

 _Ooh, that'll make some angsty fanfiction later,_ Hungary thought excitedly.

"Hey, Hungary, we should get back together!" Austria said. "Come on, you and me— we can conquer—!" He promptly fell asleep, slumping into Hungary's shoulder.

Slovakia looked pretty worried. He stayed away from Austria and Hungary, murmuring, "I don't _want_ to be conquered!" to Czech, who nodded solemnly. They left shortly after, trying their best not to draw attention to themselves.

Japan went up to Germany, exchanging a few words with him briefly before continuing to sit by himself.

Prussia and Italy fell asleep. England and France were still bickering. Hungary yawned.

America frowned, realizing he was the only one who wasn't pissed out of his damn mind. "Okay. Who needs a ride home?"

Almost everyone in the bar immediately raised their hands, except for Austria, who was still asleep, and Germany, who either wasn't paying attention or was pissed off.

"Umm... Canada... let's go to the hotel." Canada had only had a few drinks; hardly enough to get pissed like everyone else but just enough to render himself useless when it came to driving home. "A-And," America added, trying his best to do good and be a good friend, "Germany, Prussia, Austria- dudes, you live together, yeah? Do you want to go home?"

"Get fucked."

America ignored that comment. "Canada, dude! You wanna go back to the hotel room?" Canada nodded, a light blush creeping to his cheeks.

"Y-Yeah," The nation managed.

"Cool! Let's go!"

Meanwhile, the crowds were starting to disperse. England and France were still bickering. Italy was sleeping and Germany was trying to wake him up so the two could leave, while Prussia just watched Italy and teased Austria simultaneously.

Hungary yawned. _Okay. Maybe just one more drink..._

Luckily, everyone arrived at their respective homes/hotels safely.

However, they did it all again a few days later.

 **AN: Sorry if this was a bit OOC (especially with America). I wanted to try a larger range of characters for this one, and so I did, but I feel that might not have worked out very well.** **Regardless, I hope all of you have a wonderful day, and stay safe everybody! I would love to hear your comments and/or feedback.**


	3. Prohibition

It was the last day any American would ever be able to drink. Like many other people, you could only find America trying to cram in one last drink.

America wasn't an alcoholic. Far from it. He, like everyone else, just liked a nice little drink every once in awhile.

Indeed, Americans drank a lot. England looked around. "There are a lot of people. Is it always like this?"

"Pro-hib-i-tion." America slammed his head on the table with every syllable.

"Oh."

America looked up. "Th-Thanks for bein' 'ere. This is a real important time."

"Yes, because watching you get shitfaced one final time is exactly the way I want to spend this afternoon," England retorted.

France smiled. "As long as America's paying—,"

"Yeah, don't rub it in."

America's first bottle slid towards him. In such a rush, everyone in the restaurant was eager to serve as many people as possible. England didn't bother to look. Frankly, he didn't care. Someone had to be sober, and even if he didn't want to put up with America's shit—

And soon, several bottles surrounded America. France was still enjoying his bottle of wine, sipping it casually.

"So, why is this happening again?"

"Domestic violence." America took a long swig, wincing as it went down.

"Oh. That's rather grim."

"Yeah," America agreed. "It is. I'm glad..." He took another drink. "I'm glad it's happening. I'm glad. Very glad."

"You don't sound glad," England said.

"Fuck you, I'm glad." America sighed. "I'm glad that this'll stop it and I'm _damn_ glad I'm not part of the problem. Ain't got no fucking kids. Or a wife. Or anybody. I can't." He slammed the bottle on the table and didn't move for a few minutes. "I can't," he repeated. "No friends, family... nobody."

"You always have—,"

"Fuck. You don't count. None of you do," America murmured. "Anyway, that was wasted time."

America continued to get pissed. He was going pretty fast. England told him to slow down and America promptly told him to go fuck himself.

France just smiled, still nursing his wine, and turned to England. "See? You two really are brothers!"

"Fuck England," America exclaimed. "'Merica's the best..."

"Why are you so bloody rude, you git? What, do you just not like my—,"

"Oh, your people are fine. Why would I hate a whole group of people? You know who sucks though? You."

England didn't know how to respond to that.

"I mean, you act like you fucking hate me. It kind of puts a dent on my childhood. Not that it was any good to begin with. Ah, fuck... It puts a dent on everything. It's so awkward, being with you. It's like seeing someone you haven't seen in years, but you hate me and I never knew that until I saw you again. Did you always hate me? I guess it can't get any worse. I didn't know that you still hated me until the world war, you know, I figured you'd be glad I was there. But _no_ , instead you just told me to go... Usually people are happy when their children are successful..." He slammed his drink on the table again.

America was slumped over the table. Too many bottles surrounded him. "I don't get it. Why... Why can't I just stop being _immortal... what the fuck... everything hurts. And molasses..." America groaned. "And everything else..."_

France and England hadn't said anything for awhile, but now France hesitantly said, "Molasses?"

"Molasses!" America cried. "It's not fair! Why... ugh..." America promptly asked for another bottle.

"America, perhaps you should slow down," France said.

"No. This is it. And then I've got nothing."

"You've got a lot of things, America. I know you feel young, but you're pretty old. Come on, cheer up," England reasoned.

"I have nothing."

"And alcohol was your way of coping?"

"No! But it's a damn good one if you live alone!"

"How'd you live before, then?"

"I... fucking went outside and shit." America sighed and hit his head against the table. "I don't think I'll be able to go outside for days after this."

"I think you're going to die if you continue."

"I'm a nation. I'll be fine. I'm a hero."

"Can you stop it with the hero bullshit?"

America didn't respond. Instead, he said, "England... Wow. I never realized you could feel so much camaraderie in getting drunk in a restaurant while everyone else does that too." America swallowed a hiccup. "Oh... Oh, I shouldn't have used the C-word," he whispered.

"The c-word? Why not?"

"I've already been arrested once."

"You've been arrested? You never told us!" France said.

"Yeah! Can you believe that hand asshole arrested me? He ordered his men to beat the shit out of me, too!" America sighed. "I had to explain that just because I'd talked to Russia didn't mean I was a... a... collaborator." His voice dropped. "And then I had to call my boss, and I had to talk to him in front of a few hundred other prisoners! And then the hand guy said that I was working with the Russian government! Me, the United States of fucking America, working with the Russian government! How fucking stupid can you be?"

"Okay, America, let's calm down."

"And they treated me horribly there, and eventually my Boss himself had to come get me. They beat the shit out of me, though, and it left some pretty terrible bruises. They fucking tore the shit out of my house. You know, ripping shit off the walls, throwing rugs off the floor, trying to force me to show them where everything was... but I didn't even have anything!"

France and England weren't quite sure how to respond to that. How were they supposed to respond to that?

"Can I tell you guys a secret?" America asked.

"What?" England and France asked together. Both of them were suddenly intrigued at the idea of America's secret. He always seemed so loud.

"I'm a superhero. And my name is... America."

"That's dumb," England said.

"You know what would be dumb? If I named myself after some little fuck, like Germany or whatever his name is. Germany's a loser."

"Okay, it's time to go home now," England said. Despite America's protests, England grabbed him around the waist and flung him into the aisle. America immediately fell.

America ended up shelling out about a hundred and thirty dollars.

He didn't see any of them for about a decade after that. He was too 'busy'.

Thankfully, the drinking age was raised before America could ever legally drunkenly call England. England never offered to take him back again.

 **Prohibition. If the formatting is off, it's because the app is a cunt. I'll try to fix it as soon as possible. A review would be nice. Thanks for reading, everyone, and have a good day. Stay safe, drink water, take care of yourself— all that good stuff. Cheers.**

 **I should also probably clarify that drinking was extremely easy during Prohibition, but if there is any sort of reasoning to any of this, I simply figured that America would not participate in illegal activities such as drinking/smuggling alcohol during Prohibition.**


	4. Surrender

**AquaEclipse: 1920s were actually pretty great for Americans— in my opinion, it was the year 1919 that really sucked. America references the Boston Molassacre (which does happen to be a great name) and the Palmer Raids. The Palmer Raids were essentially the result of Mitchell Palmer (who I believe was the Attorney General at the time) coming under fire for not doing anything about the communism slowly corrupting the hearts of every American community. Palmer decided to start deporting people to make himself look good. Now, he actually did deport a few radicals— however, a lot of the people arrested and later deported were in fact entirely innocent.**

Britain was back home. Finally, after a humiliating defeat in which Cornwallis, the motherfucker, had made _him_ go out and continue with the surrender to the goddamn Americans, he was at home. After a humiliating defeat, it was all over.

Britain was fairly certain it was the end of the world. Indeed, the band had been right.

It wasn't the end of the world, and of course he knew that. Still, wouldn't it be so nice to pretend that everything was over? That he was done?

"I can't believe it. That ungrateful little bastard takes all of _my_ resources and uses me all this time and then he just leaves." He put his head on the table, quickly lifting it and putting a stein to his lips, taking another swing of alcohol and then resting again.

"You still have me, Mr. Britain! I'll always be here!"

"Ha, yes. I suppose so."

Britain briefly recalled what had happened. He had promptly started crying after the surrender was done, and America had just looked at him and shook his head as if to say, _you look like shit now. Crying won't win me over a second time._

"I can't believe it. After everything I did for him..." England hit his head on the table. "What an ungrateful little bitch! I fight the war and he benefits, so of course I wanted him to pay a bit. After all, it's not like I got jackshit! It was him who was safe from that pervert France because of me! What did I get? Basically nothing! Sure, I wouldn't let him use the new land, but I didn't use it either! And sure I got a lot of other territory, like— like _Quebec_ , but that's bloody French! Surely America saw that he was the real winner? But nooooo— instead he starts whinging about taxes."

"Right. Maybe we should go—,"

"You know what? I'm glad to be rid of him. He was a little shit anyway. Not as good as— as Canada, or anyone really."

"Well. That's nice."

The two were silent for a moment. "Goddamnit," Britain said. "Goddamnit!" Which drew the disapproving gazes of the religious folk that frequented the tavern, if nothing else. Then again, God had clearly left him. "I was sober for him. The little shit. At least I don't have to be sober now, since I've got nobody. Not like I have to set any examples."

"Uh-huh," his friend said, sounding a bit annoyed.

"Why'd he have to leave? I'm going to die without him," Britain whined.

"It's not like you're never going to see him again, Mr. Britain. Remember, you've still gotta see him at least one more time."

"Yes, I suppose so. But he's not mine. I don't think anything is ever going to fill the void he's left behind. That fucking asshole, leaving me alone like this. And over stupid fucking taxes, too, which was just a punishment that he deserved because of what a little shit he was being!"

"Sure," his friend said. "I agree completely. He should've stayed. It would've been for the better if he'd stayed. Don't worry, I'm sure he'll come back soon."

Britain laughed. "As if I'd take him back," he said. He coughed. "God, I wonder if I wanna feel this way? It feels so horrible to exist without him but I don't want him back. Oh god, the world's going to end."

"The world isn't going to end. Even if it does, you still have me."

Britain ignored that. "The most powerful army in the world, defeated by its own colonies! What if everyone else catches up now? What if they begin to hate me? What if they kill me?"

"I think you're very strong, Mr. Britain. Perhaps it was just a bad moment. And I will stick with you no matter—,"

"Oh, America! You were so loyal! What did I do wrong?" England called out, crying to the ceiling as if America was God. "You tried so hard to pledge your loyalty, and I... I'm sorry. I ignored it. I didn't want to do this to you. I love you. Please come back."

"Mr. Britain, people are starting to give us weird looks," his friend murmured.

"You know Quebec? Screw Quebec. I know you had land and I'm so, so sorry. You were always my favourite, even if you were a little fucking piece of shit all the goddamn time."

"Mr. Britain, please stop—,"

"Oh god, I'm sorry. I'll do everything you want within reason just _please come back_." And with that, Britain started crying. "But you were so goddamn ungrateful! And of course I had to punish you when you wasted all that tea! And sure it got a little out of hand, what with the yelling and... and everything else I did... just please come back. I'd never let it get out of hand like that again."

"America's not here. You know that, right?"

Britain clenched his fists, trembling a little. He was clearly exhausted and he hadn't actually slept since he'd gotten back. "But then, get this, right! He convinced himself that I was abusive and then he fucking left me!"

"Hm," his friend said. "I don't think you're abusive."

"I'm not. I just had to punish him because he kept doing weird ass shit and it was making me look bad, and it was making him look bad too."

Silence. The entire tavern was dead quiet. "I don't know why I'm even talking to you," Britain murmured, staring at the counter in front of him. "You're not even bloody real."

Canada didn't know what to say to that.

(Linebreak.)

Canada went to an inn across the street after escorting Britain to his house. The next day he came over and made Britain some tea.

Britain just sat, slumped over. "Thank you, love," he said once he'd gotten his tea. "Say, Canada— when did you even come over?"

Canada didn't bring up the fact that they had, in fact, gone home on the exact same ship, and that Britain had gotten very drunk in front of him. Instead he said, "I arrived this morning."

"Oh. Well, I'm so glad you're here."

 **A review would be wonderful. Sorry if this chapter was a bit darker than the others. Have a great day and stay safe— make sure to stay warm, or I guess just at a comfortable temperature if you live somewhere where it's not yet cold.**


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